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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557666">Of Shared Beds and Bruises</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines'>IWriteSinsNotStraightLines</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And More of Me Just Incorporating Mitch into Teen Wolf, Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Because I can, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implications of Pack Issues, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Gets Kidnapped, This Isn't Under Both Fandoms Because It's Less of a Cross-Over, Unnamed Hunters - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:09:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bossman eyed him, shaking his head, “It’s a shame, really. Someone should’ve had your back.” </p><p>He bared his teeth. </p><p>‘Someone does. Just wait until my boyfriend gets here,’ he thought to himself darkly. </p><p>He knew Mitch would get there before the pack would, or at least he desperately hoped so.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mitch Rapp/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of Shared Beds and Bruises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What's up, y'all? I'm back with some completely self-indulgent fic. It's not exactly a surprise.<br/>This is my first (of what is hopefully many) Stitch fics! Yay!<br/>Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles blinked against the blinding light, squinting until his eyes adjusted. </p><p> </p><p>One of his captors- a young, dark-haired guy who had a tribal tattoo inked up his bicep, and was probably early thirties if he <em> had </em> to guess- dropped the black bag which they’d kept over his head until this point onto the floor. </p><p> </p><p>His head ached in time with his racing pulse, a product of them knocking him out on the way to wherever they were. He’d been able to feign unconsciousness for several minutes while he attempted to reign in his panic and test his bonds. </p><p> </p><p>It was safe to say that he could rule wolves out. </p><p> </p><p>And judging by how expertly he was tied, and how every one of them he could see was strapped to the nines, there was an obvious conclusion. </p><p> </p><p>Hunters. </p><p> </p><p>He groaned inwardly, because this <em> wasn’t </em>going to be fun, and fixed who appeared to be the leader of the group- a stubbly, middle-aged white man- with a fierce glare, sneering as best as he could around the cloth in his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“Nice of you to finally join us,” the man said, his voice surprisingly nasally and grating to the senses. “You can take the gag out.” </p><p> </p><p>The hunter closest to him- a tall, willowy woman with harsh blue eyes and curly blonde hair- tugged it out from his mouth and narrowly avoided losing a finger between his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>Blondie scowled at him, looking murderous, but Bossman’s lips curled with something like amusement. </p><p> </p><p>“What a little lion the dogs keep,” he mused. </p><p> </p><p>Stiles bristled, “I’m not a <em> pet</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“So what are you? You’re not a beta. My second guess would be emissary, but if you were, they would be trying harder to find you. You’re not even close, are you? I doubt it. No one has even <em> begun </em> to look for you,” he scoffed. “Those mangy mutts don’t even realize you’re gone.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He bit back a witty retort and ignored the feeling of betrayal and hopelessness- disturbingly similar to being punched in the stomach- rising within him as he silently cursed Scott’s faulty leadership. </p><p> </p><p>The pack wouldn’t come for him, at least not until it was too late, not when they didn’t have Derek and Peter there to realize he was missing. </p><p>Lydia might notice, but probably not until he was on his deathbed, and he’d have already been killed and buried by the time she’d convinced them to look for him. </p><p> </p><p>Bossman eyed him, shaking his head, “It’s a shame, really. Someone should’ve had your back.” </p><p> </p><p>He bared his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Someone </em> does. <em> Just wait until my boyfriend gets here</em>,’ he thought to himself darkly. </p><p> </p><p>He knew Mitch would get there before the pack would, or at least he desperately hoped so. </p><p> </p><p>They’d taken him from near the loft- where he’d still go sometimes for research after Derek had given him a key and free reign of his and Peter’s books- on a day Mitch was supposed to get back from a work trip, which would likely be enough to spell out trouble. </p><p> </p><p>Blondie smacked him across the face, frowning when he set his jaw and stared them down. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll give in eventually. It’s better to do it early on, before any permanent damage has been caused. Just answer our questions and we’ll let you go. Simple as that.” </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you,” Stiles bit out, hissing when she hit him again. </p><p> </p><p>It was going to be a <em> long </em> day. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Stiles ached. </p><p> </p><p>There wasn’t a better word for it. </p><p> </p><p>His entire body throbbed together in time like a second heartbeat. After he’d refused to give Bossman information on the wolves, Blondie and Tattoo had ripped him from the chair he’d been bound to and beat him for what he guessed was the better part of an hour. </p><p>Then, when he was bloody and bruised and choking out screams through clenched teeth, they’d tossed him back into the chair, re-tied him and left the room. </p><p> </p><p>Was he bait? He had to hope so, because otherwise they were just leaving him to die. </p><p> </p><p>He estimated they’d had him for around a half a day total, and wondered if anyone had figured out he was missing yet. </p><p> </p><p>He dully watched the blood drip from his fingertips to the ground, puddling near his feet. He didn’t even really register what was happening until the shots were right outside the room he was in, ringing through the air and shocking him out of his foggy stupor. </p><p> </p><p>He had enough time to curse and struggled, head shooting up and making him hiss as the doors were flung open. They hit the wall with a resounding thud that he felt in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Mitch?” he croaked, pausing in his desperate attempt at escaping. </p><p> </p><p>“Stiles,” he breathed, rushing over to him. </p><p> </p><p>He flicked out a knife that Stiles hadn’t realized he’d been carrying and sliced through the ropes, untying him quickly. </p><p> </p><p>He cupped Stiles’ jaw, searching his face with dark eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh</em>, love. What did they do to you?” </p><p> </p><p>“Looks worse than it feels,” he slurred, tongue feeling huge in his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“I doubt that,” Mitch said, stroking his thumb over the cut on his cheek with his thumb. “You think you can walk?” </p><p> </p><p>Stiles wanted to say yes, but hesitated with the way his head was spinning, which was apparently answer enough for Mitch. </p><p>He nodded, and gently- much more gently than Stiles would’ve expected from anybody else, but not<em> him</em>, who always handled him like something precious- slid one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees, lifting him easily into his embrace. </p><p> </p><p>Stiles bit back a groan when he readjusted his grip, bruised body protesting, but judging by the look on Mitch’s face, he knew. </p><p> </p><p>“What about the hunters?” Stiles asked, his face leaning against Mitch’s chest. </p><p> </p><p>When he didn’t answer, just kept walking, and the smell of blood assaulted his nose as they got outside, he cracked an eye open to look at him. </p><p> </p><p>“You killed them?” </p><p> </p><p>Mitch, his mouth a tight line, always forgetting Stiles was just as vicious as he was, nodded, not meeting his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Scott’s gonna throw a bitch fit,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Mitch snorted, “Good thing I’m not a part of his little wolf pack then.” He hesitated then, looking torn, “Are you?” </p><p> </p><p>Stiles frowned, “What, mad?” </p><p> </p><p>Mitch nodded again. </p><p> </p><p>“No. You saved me. Came when no one else did. Did what no one else would. You’re literally <em> carrying </em>me because the world is turning faster than it should be. Why would I be mad?” </p><p> </p><p>He smiled a little, “Don’t forget taking you home and playing nurse so you don’t have to go to the ER.” </p><p> </p><p>“Exactly. How could I be mad?” </p><p> </p><p>They made it back to Mitch’s car in a comfortable quiet, the beating from his heart echoing softly in Stiles’ ears. </p><p>Mitch gently secured him in the passenger seat, frowning when his head lolled to the side. </p><p> </p><p>“Stiles, baby, you need to stay awake, alright? Just until we can get you home and fixed up.”</p><p> </p><p>Stiles looked up at him quizzically when he slid into the driver’s side and started the car, “Clean up?” </p><p> </p><p>“I already texted Parrish. He owed me one.” </p><p> </p><p>Stiles hummed before making a face, “He’s totally gonna tell my dad.” </p><p> </p><p>Mitch huffed, gunning the car down the road.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t take Stiles back to his dad’s, instead driving towards his own apartment and parking in the lot outside his building without comment. </p><p>Mitch eased him from the seat, offering to carry him even though his head wasn’t spinning anymore. He’d settled for half-hauling, half-supporting Stiles busted ass up the stairs and through his door when he declined, scowling at nosy neighbors and people staring. </p><p> </p><p>He nudged the door closed behind them with his foot, managing to keep a grip around Stiles’ waist and do up the several locks on the door. </p><p> </p><p>Stiles snickered quietly, breaths shaking his bruised ribs, “Paranoid much?” </p><p> </p><p>Mitch rolled his eyes and pushed him towards the bathroom, where he deposited Stiles sitting on top of the counter, bending to riffle through the cabinets for first aid supplies. </p><p> </p><p>He helped him take his tattered, stained shirt off, balling it up and tossing it into the trash can. </p><p> </p><p>Stiles’ torso was a myriad of color-- angry blues and purples rising to the surface as bruises set in, red staining his skin from countless cuts and knicks. </p><p>Mitch clenched his jaw, looking angrier than Stiles had ever seen him, before softening and filling a basin with warm, soapy water. </p><p> </p><p>He cleaned the blood from Stiles’ pale skin, taking special care to avoid hurting him more. He was quick, and efficient, and Stiles wondered how many times he’d done this before. </p><p> </p><p>After he was clean, and the water had long since turned dark and murky, Mitch trailed tender fingers over the worst of it. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think anything is really bad,” he said, his eyes focused and attentive. “You’ve probably got some pretty nasty bruised ribs, but I don’t think any are broken. None of these cuts are deep enough for stitches. We’ll just have to keep them clean until you heal up.” </p><p> </p><p>He moved onto Stiles’ face, wiping away any trace of the Hunters having him at all. He smoothed a bandage over a split on Stiles’ cheek, cupping his jaw and inspecting his expression. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve got a black eye and your lip is split. Concussion, from when they took you. Anything else you can think of?” </p><p> </p><p>Stiles shook his head tiredly. Mitch gave him some clothes- a t-shirt and basketball shorts, both baggy and too large, smelling like his cologne- and got rid of the rest of his. He made Stiles drink some water, and gave him some pain medication for his headache and the rest of the hurt he was feeling. </p><p> </p><p>He texted his dad where he was, and told him that he was staying the night, under Mitch’s watchful eye and mothering. He didn’t get a reply back, but wasn’t worried-- his dad was on shift. </p><p> </p><p>Mitch intertwined their fingers and used his grip on Stiles’ hand to guide him into bed, losing his shirt and jeans somewhere along the way and grumbling softly as he yanked the blankets over both of them. </p><p> </p><p>He curled up behind Stiles, slipping one arm around his waist and shoving the other under his own pillow. </p><p> </p><p>“Your feet are cold,” Stiles mumbled, nosing at the pillow. </p><p> </p><p>Mitch huffed, and he could practically hear him rolling his eyes, but said nothing. He kissed at the back of his neck, lazily nuzzling his hair. </p><p> </p><p>“Love you,” Stiles murmured, eyes drooping. </p><p> </p><p>“Love you too, baby. Get some sleep.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope it was good! </p><p>Until next time!<br/>- Sins </p><p>Find my Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines</p></blockquote></div></div>
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